


the enormity of my desire

by firebrands



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Held Down, M/M, Sexual Tension, Unhappy Ending, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firebrands/pseuds/firebrands
Summary: a story about restraint, its breaking point, and the fallout.fill for mystony bingoprompt: gamesthank youlazywriter7andhanfor the beta!!!i also tried a new writing style with this and i hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	the enormity of my desire

Something has always simmered between us. It’s felt like we’ve just been pushing, inch by inch, to see how tenuous the wall in between us really is. At least, it’s been that way with me—constantly testing, trying to figure out his limit. Of course we were friends first, until one day something shifted between us. In the years that have passed I can’t say when it was, or how. It’s not like I kept us under surveillance. Well. I think I’m above using what surveillance I have for that, at least.

This is despite the fear that I was making it all up in my head, inventing intention where there was none. After all the romantic failures in my life, it seemed safer to accept that I couldn’t read Steve, even if it was _Steve_. But there were times, too, when it felt too blatant that it _had_ to have meant it. He’s not an idiot, after all. At least, not all the time.

Not that anyone’s asked, but I do have a supercut of moments that play in my head. Scene one: seated beside each other, our knees touching, then our thighs pressing against each other all throughout trips to wherever we need to jet off to to save the world. Scene two: hugs of relief that lasted a fraction of a second too long, punctuated by a squeeze, or the one time Steve had been bold and cupped the back of my head and held me even closer. Scene three: Steve inviting me to his apartment, the one safe space in his world, and with a gesture so simple showed me that his trust was complete.

Scene four, five, six: the sureness of his arm around my waist as I picked him up off the ground in the suit, a mutual understanding that neither of us acknowledged out loud.

That night seemed like it’d be another image added to the montage.

So, scene seven: standing on Steve’s balcony, standing closer than we need to, like always. After our debrief Steve had seen me slumped over my desk, exhausted, aching for a drink. He touched the back of my wrist.

“We can watch a movie, or something,” he said.

“Unwinding with Captain America?” I’d teased, with the last of my energy.

He smiled. “How about relaxing with Steve?”

Who was I to say no? Kindness was always few and far between. Then again, I knew I was fooling myself; I wanted to be alone with him. It thrilled me that he’d wanted the same.

We’d ordered Chinese and watched a rerun of Golden Girls, and now they were just passing time. (As always been a waiting game.)

I took a deep breath and dug my hands into my pockets. They’re safer there, less likely to do something rash like reach out and touch Steve, which I knew I could do, anyway, I’d done it before without any repercussion but—something felt different that night. Maybe it was my own exhaustion, the fact of my base humanity making me feel weak. Maybe I was finally at my breaking point, after months of this dance.

Maybe it was because Steve was the one who reached out first—wrapped an arm around my shoulders and held me against him.

I followed without comment, encircling Steve’s waist with my arm and resting my hand just shy of Steve’s stomach. We’d stood like this before, triumphant and rejoicing over a battle well-fought and won. Or other times, in private, too, fulfilling some base desire for human contact and trusting the other to provide it. But that was simplifying the issue; I wanted to be close to him. I wanted to get closer, always, and I’d take any chance I could get.

So like always, I silently savored how nice it felt, the solid warmth of Steve lined up against my side. I could smell his cologne, and I knew that if I looked up I’d see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw.

But I didn’t do that; I never could. It would bring our faces too close, and I didn’t trust myself with that proximity.

Truth be told, I didn’t know why I held back, either; it’s not as if Steve hasn’t already telegraphed his desire. But there was never anything overt, just the lingering look Steve would give me when our eyes met across a table, across a battlefield, across worlds, coupled with everything else.

I let out a shaky breath. Steve seemed to feel it, and tightened his embrace around me.

A beat passed, then Steve pulled me into a full hug, fast enough to make me gasp. We were silent, and Steve pressed his face on the crook of my shoulder, so close that I could feel Steve’s eyelashes against my neck.

At that moment, I thought about how easy it would be to spoil it all, to kiss him and ruin the years of friendship between us. I didn’t know what I wanted. What I did know is that it felt good, and that was enough.

I breathed in through my nose, my own eyes shut against Steve’s chest. We’re so close that I can feel the heat of his breath against the collar of my shirt.

I turned my head, just a little, just enough so there was only an inch between us. Then I felt Steve’s breath stutter to a stop.

The air felt thick. I didn’t move, and Steve didn’t either. For a few moments, all we did was breathe, knowing full well how close we were, close enough for one of us to finally make a move. _Could this be it?_ My ears felt warm and I took a deep breath.

I leaned forward just as Steve pulled away, then he pressed a quick kiss on my forehead.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?”

I took a second to fully come back to myself; I’d almost kissed him. I’d moved to kiss him and he’d moved away.

We were so close, and then Steve was walking back inside.

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’ll go ahead.”

Steve turned back to me sharply. There was a look in his eyes that I couldn’t decipher. But above it all I still couldn’t believe I’d almost kissed him, out here, the only witness to what had happened being the bright lights from the condominiums in the building across us.

“Stay for a while?”

Shame was burning in my belly, but the question lifted my spirits somewhat. Still, I knew I couldn’t stay; inexplicably, I felt like getting back at him for walking away. I felt like I needed to keep some of my dignity despite the fact that I’d almost kissed him, just then.

“Maybe next time,” I said, giving Steve a small smile and a wave before I turned away and walked to the door.

Once I was in the safety of the elevator, I formed my hand into a fist, bit into it, and screamed.

* * *

Looking back at it now, I was a fool to consider Steve’s apartment a haven. But it was learned behavior, pavlovian—every time I’d go there, he would touch me, and I would touch him, simple and chaste, except in the four corners of that space I didn’t have to think of what it would look like to anyone else.

Nothing about that night was different. Another battle, another debrief, another blasé invitation to unwind. Always, against my better judgment, I’d agreed: what about tonight could be different? Nothing, nothing at all.

They call me a genius. _Me._ Clearly, I’m a simpleton, easily wiled. But then again, it’s not as if Steve meant for this, I cannot imagine him to be the type to have _designs_ —no. He was considerate, and kind, as he has always been.

Perhaps, then, this was inevitable.

I don’t know how it happened, I mean, I do—we were on his couch watching a stand up comedian or something then we just sat closer together until I was leaning against his chest.

Then, somehow, we lay down that way. We didn’t say anything to make it happen, simply followed and predicted each others’ movements as well as we did in the midst of the battle.

Then he asked me if I wanted to move to the bed, and of course I said yes. After all, I’m only human aren’t I?

We didn’t say anything, once we were lying down. First both facing up, then he touched my arm and I curled against him because I know that’s what he wanted. He slid his arm under my neck, closed his eyes and wrapped his other arm around my waist and pulled me closer.

I’d been this close to him before, hip to chest flush against each other, but never lying down. It felt like we were both just pretending to be asleep; I couldn’t look up at him because my head was tucked under his chin. All I could do was watch his chest rise and dip.

I felt very brave, moving my hand from his waist to rest against his chest. I could feel his heart beating under my palm.

I’m not exaggerating when I say this was the most intimate I’d been with someone, despite us being fully clothed.

I wondered if this would just be another moment to add to the list of things we’d done, things that weren’t strictly platonic anymore, but not overt enough to mean anything. We’d gotten so good at pretending none of this mattered.

I remember breathing out very slowly, shifting my hips to get a bit more comfortable.

The next thing I know he’d flipped me onto my back. My hands flew up to his shoulders, but I didn’t know if I was going to push him away or pull him closer.

We stared at each other in the darkness, only punctuated by the hum of the air conditioning unit.

Then, he closed his eyes and kissed the inside of my wrist. It punched the air out of me.

I said, “What the fuck is going on,” because it was _too_ _much_ , he could have fucked me raw and I wouldn’t have said a word about it, but this—who had taught Steve Rogers about these signs of affection? It made my heart ache.

He took my hands and pressed them against the bed, pinned my hips down with his. I would’ve been embarrassed by how hard I was, except he was, too, and I didn’t know what to do, but I knew, too, that I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t want us to pretend, like all the other times, that this didn’t happen. It was happening. Something was happening and one of us was going to break.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, leaning over me and adding more pressure against my wrists.

I didn’t want to fight back.

“Is there a line we can’t cross?”

I swallowed down a hysterical laugh and flexed my hands in his grip. “Well, Steve,” I said, smiling a little and trying to sound more confident than I felt, “I think we’ve already crossed it.”

I remember thinking, we can’t be friends after this. He must have been thinking the same, because he looked at me, _really_ looked at me, and asked if I wanted to stop.

“No.”

His lips curled into a small smile. “Good.”

He moved forward just as I was leaning up, and we stopped midway.

For a few moments, we did nothing else but breathe. I wanted him so badly it felt like an ache inside me, but what I wanted more was the victory that he’d break first.

He let go of my wrist and held my chin in his fingers.

“Tony,” he said, calling my attention as if it was on anything other than him.

“Yes,” I breathed out.

He pulled me closer then finally, he kissed me.

Everything is fuzzy after that; I can’t recount in time what happened next. Kissing Steve was a revelation, and it made me think that this like it’s what kissing should _feel_ like, made me hot all over and desperate to press his skin against mine. I was moaning throughout, unable to stop myself and not even wanting to—I moaned as he tugged on my hair to expose my neck, I moaned when I finally got my hands under his shirt, digging my nails into his skin, I moaned when he lifted my arms up above my head and held my wrists down with one hand.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” I said, scrambling to kick my pants off.

“Stop,” he said, so I did, my breath coming in short bursts as he undressed me.

“Steve.”

“I got you,” he murmured, finally undoing the last button of my shirt and unzipping my pants. I watched as he touched me, his hand moving from my shoulder, to my chest, pausing to tweak my nipple before continuing down my stomach and stopping at the band of my briefs.

“Steve,” I whispered, struggling slightly against his hold. I wanted to touch him the way he was touching me.

“Tell me what you want,” he said.

I wasn’t trying to be dramatic, but looking at it now it certainly sounded that way. “You,” I said, breathless and half-crazed with desire. “You.”

“Good.” He moved back on top of me, pinning me down with his hips and letting my wrists go.

We kissed again, messy and desperate, almost knocking into each other in our haste to get undressed properly. In the back of my mind, hysteria was simmering—I kept thinking, this is happening, he’s kissing me, his tongue is in my mouth—

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Steve said, his breath hot against my stomach.

“Please don’t tell me you want to stop.”

“I don’t.” He looked up at me and smiled, simple and easy, as if we weren’t naked and he wasn’t about to blow me. “I’ve just wanted to for so long,” he said, kissing the inside of my thigh. “I can’t believe this is real. Can you?”

I laughed. “No, I can’t either.”

* * *

It’s been two days since I’d snuck out of Steve’s apartment, gathering my clothes and getting dressed in the living room before tiptoeing out. We didn’t speak, after, didn’t text or anything.

I didn’t want to break first, except over the past 48 hours I felt like a dog trying to catch its tail: _what did it mean? What happens next? Are we still friends? Are we going to pretend that didn’t happen?_ On the ride home, I could still taste him on my tongue. As I stepped into the shower, I could smell his cologne on my skin.

I didn’t want to break first, except we’d still catch each other at odd hours in the mansion, but neither of us would stay, already deviating from our standard patterns and signaling that something had changed.

I didn’t want to break first, but how could I not?

“We should talk,” I said, on a cool Tuesday morning. I hadn’t slept, and he looked ready for a jog.

He assessed me, for a moment. “Sure,” he said blandly, as if he hadn’t held me down and fucked me ‘til I screamed his name.

I didn’t have to think hard of where to go; there were only so many places in the mansion that afforded privacy.

“The roof?” Steve asked, but followed me up anyway.

From up there, you could see the sunrise peeking through the buildings. We stood beside each other, almost a foot apart. I hated that I wanted to get closer, despite it all.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to speak first.

I can’t say how long we were there. Then, Steve sighed, heavy and deep.

“Well,” he said.

“Yeah.”

I looked at him, then looked away. I couldn’t stomach it. With one look at him my fears were confirmed. Something was wrong, and I was on the losing end.

“I’m sorry.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

“We shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

“No, we shouldn’t have.”

We were silent. A plane flew overhead, and I wished I was on it, wished I was anywhere but here, like a coward.

“Do you think we could…?” Steve trails off, as if he knew how stupid his question would be.

“Maybe,” I said, because I’m a weak man that’s grown attached. “But not for a while.”

“That’s fair.”

None of it is fair. It was never fair. I should have seen from the start that I was always going to be on the losing team—but then again, I did know. I always knew, but I thought that I was strong enough not to care.

The conversation ended too quickly, didn’t last long enough, and everything was tangled inside me like wires that needed managing. I left without saying anything else.

He didn’t follow after me.

I hate that I wanted him to.

**Author's Note:**

> i kinda agonized over this, but ultimately enjoyed writing in this style. i'd love to know what you think. :)
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://firebrands.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/firebrandss)!


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